


A Bird Without Feathers

by AlexPrime (ATG4835)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (2012), The Incredible Hulk (2008), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst, Drama, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, Post-Avengers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:16:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATG4835/pseuds/AlexPrime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Escaping the imprisonment of Asgard and on the run from the Chitauri, Loki only wishes for a place to hide. Unfortunately, after using what little reserve magic he has left, he finds himself physically stuck as a much younger God of Lies. But perhaps this is not so bad. After all, what is more protected and catered to than a child?  (Post Avengers, physically de-aged Loki.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A serious take on a semi De-aged Loki story. Takes place Post-Avengers and will be AU from future Marvel films. Explanation of the time between The Avengers and the time of this story's occurrence will be given as the story progresses. Rated T for potential language and violence.

It was to rain that he woke to.

There was a roaring sound in his ears, as if he had a shell pressed to them and he were listening to the sound of the great sea. Roars and echoes and patters all around him and he was spinning inside the sound, lost as he was tossed about from crescendo to peak, as the sound faded and consumed and overwhelmed him. Lost to the waves of time and sound, swirled about in uncertainty. But some sort of clarity was arriving, like a glowing ship to him, and he swam towards it.   
  
His head was throbbing, from what little he could tell of the situation. Not hurting, not exactly, but a throb that was almost deeper than pain could be. His entire face throbbed, in fact. A bone deep ache settled into him, hard and heavy in his limbs. It hurt to move, to think, to breathe…

And there was rain.

He blinked his eyes open.

His world was so very disoriented. His vision was cloudy, surrounded by muted, cold colors. All of them were blurry and out of focus. Mere smudges against his eyes. He blinked, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Shapes swam into view slowly. Bricks. Many of them, in fact, rising up to meet a dark sky, and he realized he was in a back alley made of the red stones. His mind was swaying from alertness to fog and he gave himself into it for a moment as he tried to figure out what had just happened.

_Falling_.

Falling…. That's right. He had been falling. He recalled the distant sensation of being weightless and, at the same time, so very, very heavy as he plummeted down from the heavens. Gravity was an unpleasant master when it chose to take hold and drag one down. He had been thrown around in the air, in the storm that swallowed him. He hadn't been able to manage for a graceful landing, either. The ground beneath him was cracked and shattered, stones digging into the skin of his cheek.

_Always digging in. With their weapons beyond any weapons imaginable. Pain beyond the most frenzied dreams, and he was screaming, lost in the fog. Screaming for anything. Anyone. Father. Mother, Brother.... Screaming and begging and not himself anymore. Nothing. He was nothing and he was falling away into nothing too..._

Always falling...

He blinked, mind coming back from the distant place he found it wandering in on occasion. Focus. Now was not the time for this. The episode would have to wait for later; he had to move.

Ahh, but his body ached. This was not the first time he had fallen, and he had a feeling (and his feelings rarely led him astray) that it would not be the last time either. It seemed to be something of a habit for him now, to fall between worlds like a chick falls from its nest. Featherless, alone, and unknowing if he will be able to spread his wings and fly.

Fly...

He had been able to do so once. To glide and walk upon the air as if it were solid beneath his feet. To sit on it and feel it support his weight. But no longer. No, that grace had been taken from him, savaged away and leaving him mere scraps of whatever dignity he could muster up. Nothing but ravaged, shredded remains of what he had once been. A God. A Prince. A King. And what was he now? A husk of dark thoughts, of petty, vengeful urges, and a sharp stabbing of madness. No energy, no warmth of magic. There was only the barest tickle of it in the back of his mind. How much he had used for his escape, to break open time and space and jump from the edge of the universe. Instead of an ocean of magic at his fingertips, he felt dried up and empty. Mere drops remained behind…   
  
For a moment, for a long moment, he simply stared at the brick of the wall. A Lord of Lies in the realm of Midgard and he was sprawled in their filthy, degenerate back alley. A God, forced to lay amongst the trash. It was both degrading as it was disgusting and he endeavored to move from the spot as immediately as possible. Such a typically human place; he guessed he was in the city from the amount of grime he could feel clinging to his skin.

How far he had fallen, and not only physically. The ascension from Prince to a King, and then the long fall from a King, to an outcast, to a villain to a... what was he now? He could not even tell any longer. So many titles and so many labels. He'd come up with another one as soon as he felt himself able to think properly. At the moment, he wished to be out of the foul, smog-ridden rain and into some sort of shelter.

_Pick yourself up, God of Lies, and meet the day._

Loki lifted himself, forcing his fatigued, battered body to his elbows and then to his hands and knees. He gasped, his insides seeming to shift around as he attempted to move more. Sweat beaded at his brow and he closed his eyes, panting with exertion. He felt... sick. Sick and so very vulnerable that he almost could feel something similar to fear. Ignore it. Push it from his mind. Concentrate on what he could control and not on what he could not. Fatigue, pain, injury... they were beyond his reach at the present. They were of the mind, and he was his own master.

_Always your own master, King Without a Throne. Never forget that. You are a God and a King, and you belong to no one._

_You answer to no one…_

Finally, after many long moments of kneeling there, half wheezing with the effort, he finally came to his feet. Standing had taken longer than he would have liked; a trial that had him sneer at himself half-heartedly. Disgusting. Was this what was to become of him? Dripping in polluted rain in a fleshbag's city, stinking of their dirt and trash?

Perhaps he did deserve this. A bitter, choked laugh escaped him as he leaned against the wall of the alleyway. It wasn't merry, it wasn't pleasant. It spoke of insanity, of a madness starting to emerge that he couldn't quite smother. Too long. It had been too long since he had laughed and he felt the sound of it eat at him like a poison...

_Poisontongue, they call you, God of Lies. A Silvertongue. Like a sharp metal dagger slipping into the ribs, deadly and quiet. Thy false-Brother: The Hammer. Blunt and honest. Made for helping, fixing, plucking the nails as they burrowed into the wood of Yggdrasil. A loud instrument, echoing, vibrating, and shaking the branches and roots. Honorable. A honest work for an honest man. Oh, but not you, Little God. You slip in, the snake in the grass, and you cut the leaves, and you slice the branches, and you notch the roots. You carve and damage and burrow into the core, dripping and ripping and destroying..._

_Would that your mouth be sewn, so you couldn't drip more of your filth and lies..._

A laugh escaped him again, a high-pitched, dangerous thing that had him shaking as he stood there.

He needed to get into cover now. His escape would be traced and his false-Brother would come for him, so earnest and just that it was sickening to witness.

_But where to find it? Who would take you in? Your face is recognizable, your garments even more so. Go hide, little Godling. Go hide so no one will find you. Hide like the coward you are and the coward you pretend not to be..._

A good suggestion and he took it from his own mind without further a thought, pulling himself along the wall of the alley with shaking legs. They barely supported him, they hardly even moved enough to walk. He more shuffled, the meager rags of his clothing sodden and soaked to the bone. His hair fell long in his face, limp and unwashed from the length of his imprisonment. He'd have to get that fixed when he was in a proper state. When his energy came back, when he could feel the magic inside of him...

Right now, he felt so very empty of everything except exhaustion...

The fury of Asgard was not the only thing hunting him. Now that he was out of chains and into the wild, it would be open season to track him down. The Chitauri had not forgotten his failure, nor would they ever. Not until punishment had been served.

_'If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.'_

The words rang in his mind, clear as a bell, and he found himself shaking violently, a barking sound in his throat. Fear. It coursed through his veins and the sense of urgency forced his legs forward again. Desperation. He had no choice, no options, no anything. All he had to do right now was gain shelter and rest. Rest until he could figure out his next move. Rest until his body was not so weak...

A shape ahead, and he stumbled as the wall ended, finding himself on his own without the much-needed support. Not good at all, and a hoarse wheeze of anxiety escaped his chapped lips. His green eyes, dull with exhaustion, flickered up at the skyline that was now visible. Even in the rain, it was recognizable. New York City. How... typical. Irony burned at him. To end up in the one place that would hate him most of all. The fates were cruel to him, and their malice knew no bounds.   
  
He could not stay here. To do so would be the death of him. The mortals, for infectious little parasites that poisoned and scarred their planet, seemed fiercely protective of it from outside forces. A disease that refused to share its host. The one city in all of the planet that would not hesitate to strike him down in his weakened condition.   
  
Loki found himself laughing again, body shaking so violently that his legs almost gave way beneath him. He stumbled forward, arms thrown out in an attempt to catch him should he fall.

"Bara heppni mína að ég ætti að enda á stað sem hatar mig..." He gave another pant and stepped forward. There were a large pile of dark objects ahead of him, tall and with platforms. He supposed he could take shelter beneath them for the moment, just until this horrid rain passed him by and he had a chance to gain control of himself.

Loki had to duck to fit beneath the platform and he sat down roughly, leaning back against a pole. Shelter from the rain-

A drip on his face and he glanced up at the roof. The storming sky was visible through the scattering of holes in it. His expression deadened, lips quirking down and eyes going dark. What roof of a shelter would have holes to allow in the elements in? What sort of shelter was this at all? A poor one, obviously, and he rolled to his knees. Not five feet from him was a small tunnel. A small but dry tunnel and inched forward without a thought. It was too small for him, but how he longed to find a spot to sleep, to curl up like a bird in a nest and dry off until the sun shown.   
  
Protection. All he craved right now was shelter, security and protection. Be it from the rain, the mortals, the Chitauri, or from his False-Brother. Shelter. Security. Protection….

A wave of nausea hit him suddenly and he gagged heavily, crawling into the tunnel that now seemed to accommodate him. He didn't spare it any mind; didn't even notice it at all. All he knew was that now he felt some semblance of comfort surrounded him. It reminded him of when he was little, just a small child, hiding in the corners, beneath tables, behind furniture or curtains. The memory gave him warmth he had not known he could still feel. The rags weighing him down were sluggishly kicked off and he curled up on the smooth dry surface of the tunnel, closing his eyes.

And the God of Lies slept soundly.

 

* * *

 

 

"Son?

Loki blinked his tired eyes open as the light shone into his eyes. For a moment, he was about to say something scathing, to snarl and sneer and insult whoever dare wake him up from his sleep. He was a God. However long he wished to sleep was however long he would sleep, and it was as simple as that. The nerve of anyone to challenge this...  
  
Memories came to him, then. The battle. The falling. Midgard. The rain... that's right. He was in the city of New York, a prisoner of his own design in a city that hated him. How cruel and hilarious it all was, but he found little reason to smile right now. That voice spoke again and he flicked green eyes downwards.

A flash of light caught his eye. A small metal shield on the man's shirt. Police. This was one of the Midgardian protectors then; a law enforcer. He knew that they had superiors, and that those superiors had superiors. And somewhere in the mix, far down the line, S.H.E.I.L.D had their grubby, greedy little fingers into the Police-pot too. This was not good. He remembered destroying a metal vehicle of theirs in Germany. And how many countless brave officers died for this city during the Chitauri invasion?

Loki said nothing and simply stared, waiting for the officer to make his move. Instead of slapping metal shackles on him, as he had expected, the man knelt and wore an expression of serious concern.

"Hey, kiddo..." The man said softly, eyes kind and gentle, and Loki furrowed his brow in confusion at the word. It was spoken with a sort of breathy tone that one reserved for children. Kiddo. Obviously some sort of endearment. It was not one he had heard before, although he was not so accustomed to Midgardian slang. It had been far easier when the lot of the fleshbags had been grunting slobs, eating hunks of raw beast and carving wooden boats. Far easier to communicate and dazzle them into submission.

Loki understood that he was being treated gently, but he did not understand why. The mortal did not know him, couldn't possibly be endeared to him, and yet, that expression was one of tender kindness. Loki raised felt a frown tug at his lips.

"Can you understand me, kiddo?" That name again, and the tone was something one would say to a child. Insulted, he was about to open his mouth to complain of the derogatory treatment when he became aware of where he was.

The tunnel, in the light from the hand-held torch the man had, was a bright blue, made of a smooth material he recognized as plastic. There were carvings on the inside, made with some crude blade. LuCuS luvs AmEE' was spelled out in a mix of capitalized and lowercase letters, the middle word mispelt completely. It was a sloppy handwriting and he realized that he was in a child's toy. A playground, he knew them to be called. A place where Midgardian children came to scream and run about like headless chickens.

He glanced down at himself and his gaze grew thoughtful.

That did certainly explain it, and he almost laughed at how long it had taken him to notice. He was being spoken to as if he were a child because he currently _was_ a child. A young one, by the looks of his legs. They were thin, but very short, still retaining a hint of the babyfat that followed into later youth. Tiny hands, tiny legs, tiny feet. He moved a hand to his head and felt the hair there. It was long enough to curl around his ears, and it felt as greasy and unwashed as it had as an adult. He was covered in dirt and grime from his soak in the muddy alleyway and he was bruised up rather nicely from his fall.

Ahh. All at once, this made sense. The concern the man was showing him. Of course. Even savage apes cared for their young, and finding an injured naked babe on its own would tug at most heartstrings. Loki had little problem harming children himself, although he was aware he was not overly paternal. Or maternal, depending on who he decided to be sometimes. He did not dislike children; quite the contrary. But neither did he have a moral code. In the past he had had children of his own; although he did not think that counted for much at all as it was a very long time ago and he had been a much younger God.

A much more foolish God.

As a shapeshifter, he felt comfortable in most forms. Man, woman, child, horse, cat, wolf, bird, fish, it did not matter to him. He was Loki and he was what he was... whatever that might be at the time. Being in the form of a child was hardly shocking. He had wanted to fit into the tunnel, and he had shrunk himself to fit into it. Some part of him had recognized the playground, even in the rain, and he had likely honed in on that thought.

The officer was speaking into a device, obviously one of the ones used for communication and he was calling for an ambulance. He knew what that was; a Midgardian healing vehicle. The chaos he had caused in his last encounter with The Avengers had required a great deal of them.

"Kiddo? Can you tell me what you are doing in there?" The man had stopped using his communication device and was looking back at him, pulling off his coat. Loki said nothing for a long moment, eyes guarded as he kept himself curled up. He was soaked still, and he supposed he should be cold. But the temperature did not affect him. It never had and it never would. He thought he should attempt a shiver for acting, but he was too drained to put in the effort.

"Sleeping." He finally said after a moment, his voice sounding childlike and very small. "I was sleeping."

"Sorry to wake you, son." The man was saying softly, reaching out. His face was calm enough, but there was such worry etched into the lines on his face. Humans were so, so easy to read. "Can you tell me your name, kiddo?"

Loki. His name was Loki. A God of Lies, of Mischief. A King without a Throne or Kingdom, a Jotun, a runt, a trickster, a silvertongue, a dagger... so many, many titles. For the moment, he was about to open his mouth, to speak the truth for once. The face of this parasite when he heard it, when he saw the truth. That the innocent, fragile, hurt little child before him was the same one who had murdered, without a care in the world, all of his co-workers, friends, family….

A thought occurred to him, though, before the words could escape his lips. A delightful, magnificent, rather brilliant little thought.

His magic was drained completely and it would take some time for it to return. Whatever he had used to transform into this, it was the last of his reserves. He was effectively trapped in this form for however long it took to regain his strength. But he was a child. Humans, he knew, protected their human offspring with a violent passion. Few things could stir protective instincts like a child in danger, and he was currently that child. A child of but four years of age, he guessed, with large green eyes. Sparkling and innocent and so very, very pleading.

He was on the run, from both the Chitauri and from Asgard. They were expecting to find a weakened, helpless God of Lies. They would not find a helpless little child, hiding in human protection.

The idea was dissatisfying, truly, but he lacked any other option other option. A child of his age wandering around would be noticed. He was naked and injured; a grave combination that would be picked up on almost immediately. He was defenseless from any that might try to harm him. He needed to hide, and he needed someone to keep him safe. Humans, though selfish and revolting, could provide him with some level of protection.

_Think of it like a servant, God of Lies. Think of it as playacting. You are their King. It is their job to protect their King._

Green eyes flicked to the inside of the play tunnel, to the childish words written there.

"Lucas." He said, pulling his tiny knees to his tiny chest and wrapping his tiny arms about them. "My name is Lucas."  
  


 

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping the imprisonment of Asgard and on the run from the Chitauri, Loki only wishes for a place to hide. Unfortunately, after using what little reserve magic he has left, he finds himself physically stuck as a much younger God of Lies. But perhaps this is not so bad. After all, what is more protected and catered to than a child?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A serious take on a semi De-aged Loki story. Takes place Post-Avengers and will be AU from future Marvel films. Explanation of the time between The Avengers and the time of this story's occurrence will be given as the story progresses. Rated T for potential language and violence.

In his youth (his true youth, not the mockery of his current situation), he had learned quickly how to act convincingly according to the situation. It was a trait he had picked up the first time he had gone to the amphitheater to watch his first performance. The story hadn't been particularly complex, nor violent to the point of horror; a good show to bring learning children to. He had been only a small boy at the time, not even old enough to be separated from his False-Mother for long, and the performance had startled him and amazed him at the same time.

Large green eyes watched the men and women fight and battle, realizing halfway through that they were acting. It was only when he had turned and glanced at the audience around him, watched their faces of rapt attention, and saw a woman give a discreet sniffle at a particularly heroic death, that he realized the power of acting. The power of fooling someone, drawing them in and twisting their emotions to suit your needs. To have them live and breathe the lies before them. Even knowing it was an act, the audience was moved and touched and energized from it.

Loki had turned back to watch the performance, but he had watched it with new eyes.

"I've got you, kiddo, come on." Hand were reaching into the blue plastic tunnel and touching his bare skin to gently tug him closer to the entrance. Instinctively, disliking physical contact, Loki pulled back. "Hey, hey now. It's going to be okay. My name's Nathan. I'm a Police Officer, do you know what that is?"

Of course Loki knew what that was, the plebian fool. He was a God. He had known this world before this mortal had even been a thought of the Norns.

"You protect people." It a strange thing to hear his voice so childlike. Little more than a toddler, really, and he could recall being this age long, long ago. A voice he had not heard in millennia. But as a shapeshifter, he was used to far stranger noises coming from his mouth. A fox, for instance, could scream so horrendously...

"That's right, son." The mortal, Nathan, he smiled so charmingly that it was sickening. It reminded him of Thor, of that ridiculous and airheaded grin he often had on his strong, useless face. The thought of his Not-Brother soured his stomach and his mood both. "I protect people. I just want to put this coat around you, okay? You must be pretty cold there..."

It wasn't cold.

Loki did not feel the cold until it was mentioned. The fact that he was at all was mildly startling; it seemed that his younger body was capable of it. He hadn't felt a chill for a long time. Not since had had discovered what had been hidden from him. Not since he had lost his family, his home, and his heritage all in the span of a few moments. Not since Jotunheimr.

The silence made that smile waver but Nathan the Police Officer kept it up, brown eyes crinkling in even deeper worry. The man was older, seemed to be a mortal of early forties, if Loki was any judge of age. Unfortunately, Humans had began to show age later and later in their years and he there was a chance he was off. It came with longer lifespans that the parasites had developed sometime in the past few centuries, the ill-bred wasteful slobs. It was difficult to look old when you did nothing to weather you.

"And I bet those hurt a little bit too. We'll get you fixed up, though, kiddo, okay? Just let's get you warmed up and safe and we'll see about getting you home."

_But you don't have a home, do you, little Godling? You're a shadow wandering around without a master, a King without a throne, a God without a worshipper. You are alone, more now than ever, and you have no one left. Your False-Brother did not understand you, your False-Mother supported a lie, and your False-Father played you like a man plays a tafl board. A pawn. You have no home left to return to. Hunted by all sides, haunted by yourself, you are truly, truly abandoned._

Loki bit his lip, eyebrows creasing and, after debating for a few seconds, he scooted forward. Hands burrowed beneath his arms gently and pulled him towards the entrance. He was lifted out from the tunnel into strong arms and held against a warm chest. Immediately, a coat, dry and comfortable from the man's body heat, was wrapped about his naked body, hiding the dirt and bruises along the thick folds of cloth.

Disgust at being held like a babe warred with mild relief at being in this position. A Police Office. A man designed to protect the public. Loki, to all intents and purposes, was part of that public, even if his accent gave him away as not originating here. He was a child, and society generally protected offspring.

"There now, that's better. Shhhh, Shhhh, I've got you now."

How _dare_ this mortal hush him in such a manner! He had not even opened his mouth, although it would serve Nathan the Police Officer right if he had. He should have said a spell that would turn the man into a termite. And Loki, using his tiny naked foot, would crush the insect beneath his heel without a further a thought.

_"Hush, Sleipnir. Shhhh, shhhh. I'm here. It's going to be alright, we'll think of something. Shhhh, my little colt..."_

Words that had been his, long, long ago echoed about in his mind and Loki forced himself to relax. Anger at the command simmered beneath his skin, even as he realized it was not a command so much as it was supposed to be a reassuring placation. As if he would squall and fuss like an infant. Loki had thousands of years on this man and yet it was he who was being held so tenderly. Amusement struck him, suddenly. Here he was, The God of Lies, the dreaded Loki, destroyer of New York, supported and cradled by a human of that very city.

"The ambulance is going to be here in a minute, okay? Where's your mommy and daddy?"

He winced at the tone used. It was sickening, to be spoken to in such a manner. Who used such words for their parents? Did children not have respect for their elders? A child of Asgard would not have been caught dead disgracing themselves in such a way. 'I have killed thousands!' He wanted to say. 'I nearly enslaved your entire miserable, mongrel species and you dare wibble your tongue at me like I am beneath you?!' But he did not say it and the vibrations of rage he felt trembling his body seemed to be mistaken for shivers, for he was only held closer to the body.

He felt a murderous rage pull at him, just begging and _itching_ to strike out. There were ways he could kill a man without his magic. He was not so defenseless. His mind was sharp, even broken by madness as it was. He could use it as a weapon, use that silver tongue of his and get whatever it was that he wished for.

But then, this was a rather grand opportunity, wasn't it? Think of it like an act and it almost became entertaining. He was a child, hardly more than a toddler in appearance, and this man was utterly at his whim. If he cried, every attempt would be made to soothe him. If he demanded, it would be given. If he became upset, it would be met with apologies. The idea of having humanity a slave to him was a very appealing one indeed.

Hmm...

He forced up some tears in his eyes and he curled a tiny little fist in the man's shirt, holding on gently but tightly. "I don't w-wanna be hurt!" Loki forced a whimper, looking up and meeting the man's eyes with his own brilliant green ones. He had done this exact look as a babe, to the Allfather himself. An infant was undeniable, and he had been told that the royals in the court thought him precious. Loki wondered, for a moment, what it was that they had been told about his birth. Frigga had known, of course, and Heimdall had to have known as well. But he supposed the court had to have been told he was an orphan of the war. Lives had been lost in the battle; no one would have questioned it.

And once Odin Allfather had said Loki was his son, no one would have ever spoken against it, not even to tell the babe of his adoption.

It was more like stealing really. Sometimes, he wondered if it would have been better for him to be left there to die in the cold, frozen wastes of Jotunheimr.

Hands tightened around his body, holding him securely. The coat was wrapped about his shoulders tighter to provide more coverage. Loki stared up at Nathan the Police Officer, eyes glassy and large. Every bit the sweet innocence that only a child could manage.

_Look deep into them, mortal, and know that if you allow me to come to harm, I shall lash out at you in any and every possible way that is in my power. The charge you hold is a Godling, and you shall obey it._

Without his magic, he could not mentally control the man, of course. But that did not stop the satisfaction from rising up when he was cradled gently. __  
  
"Shhh, Shhh. No one's going to hurt you, Lucas, I promise no one's going to hurt you."

That tone again, warm and comforting, and Loki's head was moved to rest upon the man's shoulder. A wicked grin spread across his face for a brief instant, and he allowed himself to be held securely as sirens filled the air.

 

* * *

 

 

_"Do you think the Bifrost is the only way in and out of this realm? There are passages between worlds to which even you, with all your gifts, are blind."_

Heimdall has told him of these words, of the truth to them. Loki knew what they did not. Passages, roads, tunnels. All of it lead from one realm to another, to another world, trickling through the branches of Yggdrasil like rain. Like poison. A poisontongue, they called the Trickster, and it was an apt name for more than one reason. The God of Lies could craft tales like it were a gentle art rather than a weapon. He could drip into a wound of the soul and spirit and poison it to fester and rot at the core, too deep to remove.

He had not always had this gift. There had been a time, long ago, when he had been an innocent. A boy, so pure and sweet and small. How had things gone so very wrong? When he thought of Loki, he could still see that little boy in his mind, trailing after him like a chick trails after it's mother. Impressionable, fragile, and vulnerable.

What had happened to destroy this precious thing?

The man who had crushed tried to enslave Midgard, who had attempted genocide, who had committed patricide… that was not Loki.

That was not his brother.

Thor's arrival was heralded by a crash of thunder as the God landed with a deafening boom. The lightning flashed as the split in the world closed and deposited the Prince securely to the ground. The pavement about his feet was split, but he had gotten better at minimizing the damage. Starkson had complain when last he had broken his home with the arrival.

It was now that he found himself on Midgard, the realm of his friends, of his beloved Lady Jane. His heart longed to seek her out, to find her and speak with her, to kiss her hand, her neck, her lips. But he was not here for the pleasure of his Lady's company, nor was he here to laugh amongst friends. His purpose here was to find the stranger who had broken out of his cell and to take him back to face the full judgment of the Asgardian hall.

A stranger. How it hurt him so to call Loki that. But the hurt of calling him brother was too much for his heart to stand. His soul was sick with the pain of betrayal and he could not bear to hurt it further.

Whoever this stranger was, it had eaten the goodness of his little brother and swallowed it down greedily, like a starving beast devouring its prey. The man who had escaped, who had left with not a word or a sound… that was not someone that Thor knew. Whatever face he wore, whatever his appearance might be, that wasn't the Loki he knew and loved

But not all hope was lost. He was so certain, with the entirety of his being, that his brother was in there somewhere. Deep down, perhaps, smothered by madness. Buried and trapped. If he could but speak with his Brother, perhaps he could have reached him. There had been time. A year of time to go and talk. But Thor had not and it was too late now. Too see what the little boy he loved had grown into had been too much and Thor had only visited a mere handful of times in the beginning before thinking it futile and stopping completely.

A mistake, and he saw that now. It seemed that he always realized an error too late. Sometimes, he felt very stupid indeed.

He should have pushed. Perhaps just a little harder and Loki might have cracked. Thor could have broken the insane, crazed, murderer and rescued his brother from the rubble. He could have taken those broken pieces and put them together in a way that was whole and better and the man Loki should have been. He was lost, his little brother, somewhere deep beneath the swirling sea of madness. And maybe, just maybe, Thor could have rescued him from himself.

It was too late now and his sibling was lost physically as well. If he had known this stranger, perhaps it would have been easier to track him, to know of his plots and schemes. But the God of Lies was chaos by his very nature and Thor could not make sense of Loki's head any longer. To make the attempt invited that madness to trickle into himself, like a disease.

He needed to find him.

And Thor needed help doing so.

Oddly, he felt conflicted at the thought of asking his mortal friends for assistance. He did not doubt their capability, he did not doubt their reliability either. Each of them were brave and strong and noble in their own ways. They were good people, and, mortal though they were, he loved them dearly as his close friends. Time on Midgard had taught him that humans were stronger than they appeared, and working with The Avengers, had only enforced that lesson.

Why then, was he so hesitant in asking for their help?

Thor was a warrior. He was one of the best at his art, which was combat and bloodshed and fighting. He was the best in all of his lessons and had been since childhood. He was worthy of the power of Mjolnir, an accomplishment to be certain. He was bright and intelligent in his own way…. But he was not accustomed to second guessing his actions. Self-doubt was an emotion he was not familiar with. Emotional crisis were of women and those of soft heart. Thor, as a God, a man, and as a warrior, had nothing of the sort.

He had always wondered why Loki would take offense at light joking, why he those green eyes would burn with betrayal or hurt or sadness when Thor teased him in good nature. It was a jest, nothing more. To be so offended at innocent humor was so very emotional that it had only served to feed into more laughter. The memory of his booming laughs as Loki stiffened up and went very quiet burned in his mind. He had thought it humorous that his Brother, a God known for his tricks and dignity, would allow so much emotion to show on his face.

But now, he could understand it.

Confliction. Hesitation. Torn between what he should do and what he wanted to do. Between nature and knowledge. Loki, a Jotun trying to be an Asgardian, with no hope of ever fitting in. All those times he had seen that hurt, thin-lipped expression on his Brother's face were now not so funny. He understood it now, even if only slightly.

He did not want to contact his friends, not because of them, but because of himself. Because he was torn between loyalty to them and loyalty to his Brother. They saw Loki as an enemy to be crushed. Just another madman trying to rule the world and play King They did not know of the innocence he'd once had, they had not seen those bright, mischievous smiles, and they had never heard that bubbly little laugh ring out, clear as a bell. Thor did, and he would never forget any of it.

He could debate it later, however. It was not so immediate that he needed to make a decision now.

For the first time since he had landed, he took in his surroundings. He stood in an alleyway, made of brick and cement and littered with trash. The ground was cracked about him and he strode forward, heedless of the rain. He was the God of Thunder, and it did not bother him. This area reeked of the sharp smell of ozone from Thor's arrival…. and something else. There was something beneath the trace of Bifrost, something woodsy and burning, tickling at the edge of his nose. Magic. This area was saturated with the scent of magic.

Thor may not know his Brother any longer, but he had been around him for thousands of years. He would know this tingle in the air anywhere.

So Loki was here.

Or he had been recently, for the escaped prisoner was nowhere to be seen. It had been not immediately noticeable that he had escaped; the God of Lies had a head start. Not for long, though. Thor bent to the ground, placing his hand against the wet and cold pavement. The magic tingled against his hand, raising the hair of his arm. So much of it here, concentrated so heavily. How much power had Loki used to come here?

_"Do you think the Bifrost is the only way in and out of this realm? There are passages between worlds to which even you, with all your gifts, are blind."_

Passages. But at what cost? What toll had Loki paid to go through them and why had he not done so before? What had stirred his brother's determination so suddenly? There had been no logged visitors except the guards, but they had reported all was normal. There had been no signs of magic in cell, for magic was stolen there. How had he escaped and how had he gotten here? This was not the graceful elegance he normally used. When Loki cast magic in large quantities, he kept it hidden. He would not have left only to be tracked down like this. He would have wanted to assure that he could escape and remain free.

To leave and be caught hours later would be humiliating. Thor may not know well this stranger of a little brother, but he knew that humiliation was something he would never stand for.

This magic reeked of desperation.

Thor suddenly felt very afraid for that stranger.

Oh Loki, what have you done?

Thor knew what he had to do now and he gripped Mjolnir with a renewed purpose. He needed to find Loki and soon. Because he worried that it was not himself that Loki was running from. The Avengers needed to be alerted, and soon. He tightened his grasp on the leathered handle of the hammer, lifting and spinning it quickly.

An ambulance passed by the alleyway, followed by a police vehicle.

Thor ignored them both and threw the hammer, lifting himself into the skies.

 

* * *

 

 

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

There were very few times when he felt irritated enough to wish to drop an act when it was in progress. He was a skilled performer; he had been fooling mortals and Gods alike for hundreds upon hundreds of years. He could safely claim, without a lie in his head, that he was possibly the best actor in all of creation. As a God of Lies, it was his nature to be contradictory. It was his nature to be fluid and versatile, to spin lies like a spider spun it's silk.

He was, after all, one giant lie himself. Born as lie, raised as a lie, fed lies. Acting had always been part of his life, even without him realizing it. A Jotun acting the roll of an Aesir. Perhaps it would be a play someday and all the Aesir children would flock to see the hated Silvertongue defeated again and again. Such a great laugh _that_ would be.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Loki turned on his less-than-soft bed and let out a sigh, gritting his teeth at the slight beeping that echoed around in the room. Midgardian technology. It was irritating to him in ways that few things were and oh, but he longed to drop his act, reach out, and smash the machine to pieces. Why the humans had to chose such persistent and loud devices, he hadn't a clue. Everything had to blink or shine lights or beep or ring. How could they accomplish anything with all these distractions was beyond his comprehension.

Oh, but of course; they did not accomplish much of anything at all, which was why their culture was weak and inferior in almost every possible way.

Disgusting humans.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He scowled to himself and turned, flopping onto his belly. The bed he was in had short railings to prevent him from falling and he entertained himself with making patterns in the silver metal with his fingerprints.

The Pediatrics hospital, they had said, although they hadn't explained further. He hadn't a clue what the word meant. Apparently, he was too young to be given any sort of explanation of his surroundings for they hadn't answered his questions. He had attempted to ask the man in the ambulance, but he had only cooed and told him they were going to a 'Safe Place'. Please. As if anywhere on Midgard could be considered safe. The Humans and their inferior security. If he had had his power at the moment, he'd have broken their vehicle and their necks, simply to make a point. Nothing and nowhere was safe.

Loki flipped onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"Lucas?" A woman, with chestnut colored hair and blue eyes came around the curtain and smiled at him. He assumed she was a worker here, she had a metal nametag on her shirt that said 'Julie'. Her name, then, and he looked over at her questioningly. Nathan the Police Officer had left him in the care of Andrew the EMT, and now apparently it was to be Julie the Pediatrics Worker.

He was being handed to so many people and they wondered why the youth of their world were suffering from outbursts and rebellion. If this was how they treated their young, he could not blame the children.

"Who are you?" His tiny voice sounded oddly vulnerable to him and he shifted on the bed, sitting up and brushing his black hair from his eyes. His hair was long enough to hang beneath his ears with a bit of curl and he smoothed it back gently with his small hands. It was still greasy from being rained on and he wanted to grimace at the texture. Neither, however, did he want to bathe right now. He had the worst feeling that the mortals would try to assist and that would not do at all.

"My name's Julie, I'm from Child Protective Services."

Ahh. Now this was a women he wanted to speak to. He straightened and gave her a small smile. It felt uncomfortable on his face. How long had it been since he smiled in a way that felt natural? One that wasn't of malice or spite or bitterness? Far too long, but he was not called a Liesmith for nothing.

"Nice to meet you." His ducked his head, and attempted to appear shy and perhaps even a bit bashful. It was easier to manage a shy, silent persona than one that was sociable and talkative. People asked less questions, paid less attention when it was quiet. And he knew that shy children could be endearing and considered even sweeter than normal.

A gentle laugh and she moved over, taking a seat next to his bed and pulling out a pad of paper.

"Nice to meet you too." She said, clicking a writing utensil and jotting down a few notes. She looked him over and wrote for a second. "Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Lucas?"

"Luke. I go by Luke." He said, tapping his fingers on the covers. His fingers were so small and fragile, it was odd to think that the last time he had had these hands, they had been clean. Pure. Innocent. And now, even with them wiped clean of filth, he could feel the blood on them, dripping off. He was filthy from the sins of his crimes.

Loki wished he could feel bad about that.

But he didn't.

"Alright Luke." Another note on the pad of paper and he resisted the urge to try to read. "Do you know where your parents are?"

Loki had been planning this since he had arrived at the hospital and he gave her a wide-eyed look, shaking his head. He even forced up some tears into his eyes as he spoke. "Mama and Daddy left me." He said with a shuddery voice, rubbing a small fist into his eyes and puffing them up. He wished he was completely lying, but it was exactly as he had said. All liemasters learned to provide a hint of truth to their performance. It just so happened that he was speaking the entirety of one.

"Shh, it's okay." No it wasn't. Why did so many adults say that to him when they hadn't a clue about his circumstances. He supposed that to most children, it would have been a soothing thing. But his words had implied that his situation was anything but okay. "Do you remember their names, sweetheart?"

Frigga and Odin.

Laufey and the one who birthed him. Whether she had abandoned him or died, he did not know. Either way, she had left and never came back.

"Mama and Daddy." He said, giving her that innocent look as if he could not remember there being a different name for them. "That's their names. Daddy said he didn't want me anymore so he left me."

_"The Casket wasn't the only thing you took from Jotunheimr that day, was it?"_

_"No. In the aftermath of the battle I went into the temple and I found a baby. Small for a Giant's offspring, abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey's son."_

_Not Laufeyson, though. Abandoned and cast out, that name is no longer yours. You were never Odinson either, despite your centuries of belief. What are you then, Little Liesmith? Son of Nothing. Nothingson. No heritage, no home, no allies. How alone you are, Loki. How completely and utterly alone._

"Do you have any relatives? Aunt? Uncle? Family friends? Can you remember their names?"

He shook his head no. "Mama and Daddy were mean and people didn't like 'em." He explained seriously. "I don't know about family. They never said about it." It was difficult to mispronounce words, but only slightly. A four-year-old Midgardian that could speak as an adult was a curiosity, and he wished to avoid certain attention.

"Did your parents every hurt you, Luke?"

Loki flicked his eyes to the woman, blinking out of his daze. How captivity had ruined him to have him ignore his surroundings like this. It was pathetic and unworthy of a God to behave as he was.

_"You took me for a purpose. What was it?"_

_"TELL ME!"_

"Yes." Loki flicked his eyes to the bed. "Every day." She opened her mouth to ask another question, but he had one of his own. "What's gonna happen to me?"

"We're going to get you feeling a little better, okay sweetheart? We need to have you drink a lot of juice and eat a lot of food so that you get stronger. Then we'll find a place for you to stay. Maybe with other boys and girls, would you like that?"

He shrugged and stared at the bed. Suddenly, he felt very tired and irritable. By the Norns, how far he had fallen, and not only physically. He wished he was a child, a true one, for them he would not have to suffer through the humiliation. He had been a King, he had been in control of an entire realm, and for a brief moment, he had been acknowledged just as Loki, instead of Loki, Brother to Thor, or Loki, Second Son of the Allfather.

The woman was asking him questions, her voice gentle but prodding. Exactly the kind of woman who should be in this position, although he no longer felt so inclined to speak with her. This was a ridiculous plan and it had never been more obvious than being in a healing chamber with other children and a Midgardian child officer. He felt out of place, just as much as he had on Asgard. Even more so, for now he knew he was not even a member of the same species.

This was a ridiculous, stupid plan, but it was the only one he had right now. He had nothing else, nowhere to turn, and he had run out of options. His form wouldn't require sustenance for some time, but what of clothing and shelter? Was he to sit in the streets, soaked and naked for weeks until Thor found him?

Or worse.

The Chitauri.

_"If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain."_

Loki shuddered, expression creasing. He didn't have a choice. He could not go back to Asgard… not after what had happened, not after the manner of his escape. It wasn't safe there for him any longer, although he had suspected it would be breeched eventually. He could not flee to the other realms; he had no friends and no acquaintances that would take him in. No doubt the news of his betrayal had spread all the way to Niflheim by now.

Asgard was not an option. The other realms of Yggdrasil were not an option. Where else had he to turn to but the anonymity of Midgard? It was not ideal, but he had no better plan. Not in this form and not without his magic. Thor would be coming for him soon, and the Chitauri would be scouting for him heavily after finding him alive.

Stuck between a rock and a hard place, if he remembered the phrase right. On one hand, The Mad Titan would do worse than torture him. There would not be a word for what he experienced at his hand, and Loki wished to avoid that at any cost or expense. He did not care how many lives or innocents he had to dispose of along the way, he did not care what he had to do. He was, at the core of everything, selfish. Self-preservation was a trait he favored heavily.

On the other hand, however, he had Thor. The bumbling blonde fool with all his pleading looks and sorrowful sighs. The Mad Titan may wish to more-than-torture him, but Thor sought to heal him as if madness and deep-rooted sadism were simply a minor hurt. It was insulting.

_"We were raised together, we played together, we fought together. Do you remember none of that?"_

" _I remember a shadow; living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss, I who was and should be King!"_

"I'm sleepy." Loki mumbled, rolling into the covers and ignoring the woman. She smoothed his covers down and left, leaving him alone once more. Perhaps he would sleep; he knew he should keep up his strength as much as it was possible. He needed to plan

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He flicked his eyes open and glanced at the curtain that had been drawn around him. The beeping, insistent and loud, was coming from behind it. Smoothing down the papery tunic he had been given to wear, Loki awkwardly climbed from the bed, navigating over the rails. His bare feet hit the ground with a soft padding sound and he crept to the corner of the curtain, pulling it back.

A boy lay in the bed, only a few mortal years older than Loki's current form resembled. Sandy blond hair, pale skin, and seeming so tiny in the bed, hooked up to the machines around him. It seemed he had come in not long before Loki had; he was faintly covered in grime. The child was sleeping soundly, although there were tubes going into his throat and nostrils and likely more he couldn't see that were beneath the covers. The beeping came from a loud device and a green line pulsed on a screen.

It was a pathetic display and Loki moved over to the child, eyes flickering over him. The boy looked to be injured or ill, and having difficulty breathing on his own. Loki wondered, for only a moment, how it had happened. Sickness? Hurt? But he supposed it didn't matter much at all. The boy was little more than a an injured termite wasting away in its corner of the mound.

Such a short life, these little insects. How lucky they were; Loki envied them dearly for that. If they were betrayed, if they were hurt or injured or sick, they would have only a handful of years to suffer for it. Few humans ever even made it to one-hundred, and he thought his body was likely near that age.

A rage filled him, hot and burning beneath his cool skin. He had the urge, no, the _need_ to hurt something. Why should Humans, pathetic, disgusting, and miserable as they were, earn less torment? They lived their entire little lives surrounded thinking they had some sort of meaning. Fake religions, fake Gods, fake faith, and all of it for nothing. Yet here they were, ignorant and stupid and content with it! They were actually content with being nothing.

He hated them.

He _loathed_ them.

_You think your one God will come save you. You think that you have a meaning to your death. You are wrong, boy. All of you humans, your sickening, wasteful excuse of a species, is wrong. You are nothing, and nothing you do will ever matter to anyone or anything._

Loki took one of the tubes going into the boy's throat and tightly pinched it shut, blocking it. As he suspected, the boy on the bed weakly began to twitch slightly. Not awake, but it was the body's natural response to a lack of oxygen. The God of Lies stared at the boy blankly, head tilted. That rage began to subside the longer he held that tube shut. There was an increased beeping on the machine.

_No one is safe, child, and it that a difficult lesson to learn._

 

* * *

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escaping the imprisonment of Asgard and on the run from the Chitauri, Loki only wishes for a place to hide. Unfortunately, after using what little reserve magic he has left, he finds himself physically stuck as a much younger God of Lies. But perhaps this is not so bad. After all, what is more protected and catered to than a child? (Post Avengers, physically de-aged Loki.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A serious take on a semi De-aged Loki story. Takes place Post-Avengers and will be AU from future Marvel films. Explanation of the time between The Avengers and the time of this story's occurrence will be given as the story progresses. Rated T for potential language and violence.
> 
> Author's Note: My apologies for the wait. Life got rather chaotic last year, with the death of a close friend, a new job, and a number of other changes. I expect to be posting more regularly now that things have settled down. Thank you for waiting, and enjoy the chapter.

There was something wrong with Lucas.  
  
Now, Ms. Margret Harding didn't like to speak badly about any of her 'Children'. They were sent here often and for various periods of time, but for the duration of their stay, she was the best Mother to them that she could possibly be. They were damaged, all of them, the poor souls, and she took each one in with all the love her large heart could give. But despite her intentions and efforts to heal them, the children in her care came broken. A little TLC here and little encouragement there and they usually began to improve. She wasn't a novice at putting a child's fragile self-worth back together again. And after forty-two years of running the home, she had seen her fair share of mental road bumps.  
  
Some came from abusive homes, some came from neglectful ones. Others didn't come from a home at all and were picked off from the street. One child had come from a human trafficking ring, another from a brothel. The dears were so haunted by what their lives had been and they lashed out, got angry, grew suspicious. Ms. Hooper understood and she loved them all the same. It wasn't their fault, not any of it. They were just as innocent at heart as the day they had been born, bless their souls, and they lashed out because life had hurt them dearly.  
  
But there was something wrong with Lucas.  
  
The child had come to her one morning, brought by social services. A temporary arrangement, while they were trying to track down relatives or parents. So far, they had said, the boy hadn't been able to supply them with anything and they feared that the parents wouldn't ever be found. Looking over the boy, Ms. Harding didn't quite think that a bad thing. Anyone could be a make a baby, but it took a lot more to be a parent. Whoever they were, it only took one look at the child to see that they had failed.  
  
He was such a tiny little thing; Lucas. He had not given his last name and perhaps he did not know it or was too frightened to say it. They had had cases of that before, especially in children this young. He looked to be about five years of age, with startling green eyes and black hair that curled and wrapped around his ears. He was so shockingly pale that she had initially thought him anemic. He was like a small porcelain doll, really. A stunning child. A beautiful one. Any parent who had tried to break this little angel had been a foolish one indeed.  
  
At least… she had thought that at first.  
  
Not to say she condoned violence to a child, in any manner! God had given the world children to care and love and protect them. They were innocent and pure and they were each beautiful in their own way. Even damaged, they were precious.  
  
But…  
  
There was something _wrong_ with Lucas.  
  
She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Lucas had arrived here in the morning, shortly before breakfast. Most children arrived hysterical or closed down completely. Lucas was relaxed, though, and his eyes flickered about curiously. Not a suspicious kind, but a serene kind. Quite. Calm. Perhaps it was a defense mechanism or perhaps it was a sign of something deeper. Either way, he hadn't reacted to the new environment in a way she had ever seen from one of her new children.  
  
This wasn't the first time that one of her children (and she always thought of them as her children for they had no one else, the lost little dears that they were) acted out. And truthfully, Lucas hadn't acted out in the typical way. She wasn't being fair when she thought that, but she hadn't really any other way to describe it. She heard things from the other children. Whispers and murmurs in loud, hushed tones that a listening ear couldn't help but pick up on. The other boys were afraid of Lucas. They were nervous around him.

And sometimes, despite how silly she told herself she was being, Mrs. Harding was too.

For instance, what happened to Thomas's stuffed tiger? They had searched for it everywhere, only to find it pinned to a tree with what looked like a crudely made spear. And then there was the house goldfish, a pet that everyone helped take care of. No one had been caught doing it, and no one come forward as being responsible, but the fish had not skinned and roasted itself. They were still looking into the matter of various belongings being stolen. Little Adam had been caught with toys, shoes, photographs, and other personal effects, all of the stuffed beneath his mattress. He said he didn't do it, cried that he hadn't, and Mrs. Harding was inclined to believe him. It didn't stop the other children from outcasting the poor child, though, and she was still trying to do damage control as best she could...

But Lucas wasn't behind this, was he? Certainly not. No child could do all of this. It was simply coincidence that it had all started after his arrival. It was just coincidence. A fluke. After all, he was such a little darling to her and the rest of the staff. Such a quiet, calm, composed little thing he was. Attentive, smart, eloquent; he was what any little boy should hope to be. What any parent would want in a son. But....

But there were times, not many, that she sometimes felt afraid of what she saw in his eyes when he looked at her. It was cold and storming inside of that boy, and she feared of what would happen when it finally spilled out.

.... No, but she was being silly again. Letting her old mind wander in to territory it shouldn't go into. The boy was fine. Everything was just fine. These were just a bad few weeks. They had those every so often, and no one was really to blame. The children grew restless and that made them act out. Who could blame the darlings, after all they had been through?

"Mrs. Harding! Come quick! Emmy's gotta bone sticking outta his leg! Lucas did it!"

....  
  
No, it wasn't just her old mind.  
  
There was definitely something wrong with Lucas.

 

* * *

 

 

"And in further news, the reconstruction of the West-Heights Museum is well under way, after a generous contribution from Stark Industries. Volunteers are lining up to assist in rebuilding our great city of New York, and we here at KHR News thank you. Next, coming up, Wayne Enterprises' donation to the-"  
  
Nothing. Nothing for three weeks. Not so much as a blip, a hint, a subtle mention. The termites only focused on their meager, paltry excuse of a rebuilding project, trying to fix their termite mound so that they could feel important in their degenerate rotting society. Oh yes, they mentioned the Chitauri. They even mentioned himself a few times. But it was always in relation to the invasion of New York, and never current news.  
  
It was only the _news_ , he found himself thinking, a dark, ugly feeling festering in his chest. No need to discuss anything _new_. And humans wondered why the Gods found them so ill-informed and stupid. If this was their source of information, they were woefully uneducated.  
  
"In further news, there have been new sightings of the Asgardian Prince and Avenger, Thor. The so-called Demi-God, who participated at the Battle of-"

Click.

"-and Red plus Blue makes puur-uuur-ple! And Yellow and Blue make Gree-eee-eeen! And the Red and the Yellow make Oooo-ooo-ooora-"

Loki turned with a snarl on his lips, and venom in his eyes. A truly terrifying expression wrinkled his young face, which sneered at the child behind him. The boy, not even four years of age, blinked at him with wide, curious eyes. Cole Cooper, one of his roommates and a constant source of irritation for the past three weeks. Loki had made excellent progress in avoiding and deterring the other children from him, but this child was not to be moved.

"I was watching that, boy." His voice was low when he spoke, a deadly threat upon his lips. It was the same tone that had ever whispered out only the most sinister of promises. Green eyes were narrowed bitterly at the child. This was not the first they had had this argument with members of the Harding's Boy's Home, but he had thought it would be the last. The last boy to challenge him, Emmett, was still in the hospital after his leg had been shattered in three places. An 'accident', of course, and it could not be faulted back to him in any way, no matter the whisperings of the other boys. The other children had not spoken to him since, as was his desire. He had no craving to socialize with the young Midgardians.  
  
"I wanna watch the color show." Cole was whining; that pleading, breathy sort of voice that all adults, God and Human alike, found entirely disgusting.

"I do not care what you want, child. I care what _I_ want. I was watching the news; turn it back. If I have to force you, it will only make me angry."

Cole stared at the remote, large brown eyes glancing down curiously at all the wide variety of colorful buttons that could be pressed. Finally, he shrugged and looked up with a frown. "Dunno how."

"Then hand it to me and I shall do it myself." Loki waited for the remote to be returned to his small hand. Snatching the plastic away from the other boy, he scowled and turned back to the television. Useless little brat. Click. He turned the channel back to the news, only to find that the news was gone; it was on a commercial and was now displaying an ad for disposable infant prefolds.

"Don't wear those no more." Cole said, plopping down beside him, as if they were friends or comrades. Loki shot him a disgusted look. "M'a big boy."

"Congratulations." Loki spat, flicking through the channels to try to find one of the other news stations. Commercial, commercial, that unbearable color show, commercial, some sort of family, a hospital, commercial, weather station....

"Thanks."

With a frown, Loki clicked off the television and turned the remote in his hands over, ripping the batteries from the back so that, if he could not watch what he wished, no one else could either. Cole watched and kicked his feet distractedly, fidgeting about. Why was it that children could never seem to sit still for three seconds. And furthermore, he wondered if he was expected to act in such a way. The thought of always moving, of kicking up a fuss and running about like a chicken with its head removed… it sounded undignified. While his memory of his earlier years wasn't incomplete, it was hazy. He couldn't recall ever acting like the children on Midgard did.  
  
Just the other week, Brian, who was seven, actually threw his entire body on the ground and began to kick and scream when they told him to go take a bath. The boy flailed, slamming his fist and feet into the floor and screeched such an unholy cry that it could have raised the dead. Loki had stood there in shock, aghast that such behavior was not only happening, but apparently accepted here. If he had done such a thing as a child to Odin, the punishment would have been grave. For a Prince to act that way… such a thought would never have crossed his mind.  
  
Loki had never thought he would long for home so much.

Three weeks. Three entire weeks in this prison. In many instances, Loki wished that he were back on Asgard, facing the royal guard, his Father's judgmental, harsh gaze, and the aching memory of his Mother's parting words. Sometimes, he even considered revealing himself to the world, so that he might be found and thrown back into his magic-suppressing cell and his worn prison smock. Sometimes, like right now, he even considered allowing the Chitauri to find him. To let The Mad Titan to have his way...

Sometimes.

But there were unexpected benefits to his situation, he reluctantly found. There were times where all he wished to do was curl up into a ball and block out the rest of the world. On Asgard, such behavior was ill-fit for a Prince. He had to be social, pleasant, war-mongering, loud, and boisterous. To act otherwise was womanly or cowardly. But here, on Midgard, their stance on reclusive behavior was different. Instead of dragging him out to join the rest of the children, they gave him his space and let him be with calm reassurance that they were there should he need them.

Not that he would ever need a human. Goodness no. The thought soured his stomach something awful. The greedy, vain, arrogant little cockroaches thinking that they could ever earn the confidence of a God. It was sickening to even breathe the mention of. If there was anything Loki had learned in these three weeks, it was that every horrid little insult he had had for the Human race was pale in comparison to how they actually were.

Hideous, fat, sweaty little beasts, not even worth the rock of a planet they tread upon. He had seen animals with more pride and dignity than their entire whimpering species could claim. Norns, he had birthed animals that had had more pride and dignity in a single hoof than they had in their entire race. Humanity was weak, reeking, selfish, and he hated each and every single one of them.

"Lucas, Cole, are you two getting along?"

Mrs. Harding. She was, he had found out, rather unsusceptible to his charming green eyes. It was child-play to manipulate her staff, to turn them against the other children, to get his way when he wished it, but she herself did not buy it so much. The woman, an elderly human of a late age, seemed to realize something was off about him, and Loki took great joy in playing with those notions. Hints that he was some sort of psychopath, or murderer, or even some sort of demon.

It was the latter that he had the most fun with, although fun was not something he indulged in often lately. There was too much to do, too much to learn. He had to function in a world that was foreign to him. As a God of Lies, it was in his nature to adapt to a lie with ease, and he proved that true in this case as well. As a child, he was not expected to know everything, and he took advantage of this.

Still... there were days when he could not help himself. And really, they were harmless pranks, for the most part. The fish he had skinned and cooked and left on the woman's pillow at night. The stuffed animal in the tree. Emmet's shattered, fractured leg. Things that no small child should be able to accomplish were somehow happening, and he could see her brain attempt to work it out. She, who worshiped the false Christian God.

_And where is your God now, old woman? Where is he, and when will he protect you from the horror that is me? Where was he when the Chitauri savaged your world? You have chosen the wrong God to believe in, human. I would not have forsaken my followers in such a way._

Oh, but to have Midgard young again. To walk upon the new Earth and be praised as the God he was. To have danced naked in the firelight with the savage, war-lording people. To roast swine upon a spit and eat hearty. To listen to tales, to songs, to hymns, and to watch the ships sail into the sea.

That it had grown to this; this sweaty, lazy, fat culture was an insult to the highest proportion. Was he the only one upset about such a wasted world? How had the All-Father let this come to be? But then, the old man was blind to all he wished not to see, and perhaps this was yet another oversight of his. Certainly, the old fool had made many of them.  
  
 _And never has there been a larger mistake than you, God of Lies. Loki No-son. Devoid of a place among the heavens, without a home, a sire, a purpose. How lost you are. What a mistake it was for Odin Allfather to have taken you from the temple. It was your design to die that night. Saved from a cruel fate only to cause cruel fates to others. A poison of the Gods. Poisontongue. Serpent in the grass. Had Odin seen what you would become, he would have slaughtered you himself. So many people you have hurt, Little God. So much blood on your hands. How do you live with yourself? Selfish God. Greedy God. No home, no place, no reason. Just madness._  
  
'Is it madness? Is it?! IS IT?!'  
  
But you know it is, King without a Throne. You know there is something wrong with you. Something has always been wrong with you…  
  
"Lucas? Sweetheart?" _  
  
_ _'Look at this! Look around you! You think this madness will end with your rule?'  
_  
 ** _'I_** _t's too late. It's too late to stop it.'_  
  
Always too late, isn't it, Godling. Always too late to change, too late to fix it, too late to stop. Do you even want to stop? What would it take to push you past your limits? To make you see reason? There is nothing, isn't there. Nothing will ever hold you back from destruction and lies, because that is all you are. Just one lie after another. Not even a whole person, just a ghost, a shadow….  
  
' _I remember a shadow. Living in the shade of your greatness. I remember you tossing me into an abyss, I who was and should be King!'_  
  
' _So you take the world I love as recompense for your imagined slights?'_  
  
Love. Do you love anything anymore? Do you even know what it means to love something? Your False-Brother loves so deeply and passionately that it energizes him, fuels him, gives him reason in the madness of the world. But not you. You love no one, do you?  
  
No.  
  
Always so alone.  
  
Unloved and unloving.  
  
"Luke! Come on, sweetie, Just breathe for me. Breathe…."  
  
Loki blinked, sucking in a wheeze of air as he came back to himself. Breathe? But he was Breathing, wasn't he? As he wheezed in another gasp, his chest felt constricted and tight, as if a great serpent was tangled about his ribs. He found his body feeling cold and his small form heaving, as if he had been using magic for hours without pause. A God. He was a God, but he had no magic now and his form was restricted in ways it would not have been as an adult.  
  
"What?" He coughed and cleared his throat, looking around. They were no longer in the living room, but in the shared bedroom. Mrs. Harding held him in her arms, perching him on her lap as if he were truly the child he resembled. When had the time passed, and why did he feel so worn from whatever had happened? Had he not just been in the living room?  
  
"You're okay, sweetheart, you're okay. It's okay, Luke. It's going to be okay."  
  
Of course it was. He hadn't ever said it would not be, at least not aloud. Revolting human. He felt unclean with her body pressed against like this, her fragile, oily human skin holding him tight to her.  
  
"What happened?" Loki said, and he couldn't help the biting tone he spoke with. To be treated as a child was one thing- it was unavoidable in his current form. But to be treated like an _invalid_ child was a different matter entirely. He refused to be seen as weak, no matter what his age.  
  
"You just went away for a few moments, baby. It's over now, I'm here."  
  
Confusion wasn't emotion that he often felt familiar with. Certainly, he had a few incidents with the human technology, graceless and inelegant as it was, but he adapted and overcame it quickly enough. True confusion, the kind that left him feeling almost dizzy, was rare. The last time he had experienced such a shift was on Jotunheimr, when the hideous shade of blue took his skin by surprise like a sick rash…  
  
He felt filthy, all of a sudden. Sick and cold and drained.  
  
"I wish to take a bath now." He said softly, longing to submerse himself in a familiar calm. The springs in Asgard, hot, steaming, and fragrent.. he longed for that sort of peace. Tranquility was hard to find these days, and the chaos of the Earth about him was obvious becoming overwhelming. He did not presume to know what had happened just now, and he refused to think further on it. 'Went away' indeed. He had been here the entire time, with the exception of her gross manhandling of his person.  
  
"I'll help you, hun." Mrs. Harding spoke in a motherly voice. It pulled at something inside to hear it. It reminded him of long, long ago, when he was naturally in this form. Back then, a beautiful golden-haired woman had assisted him, pulling him close and laughing merrily as he splashed water at her.  
  
He felt cold.  
  
And then he felt enraged.  
  
Loki shoved himself from her arms, body tumbling from her lap and to the ground. It was only the reflexes he had been naturally born with; that quick, sharp, certain movements, that prevented him from hitting. Mrs. Harding moved to right him and he pulled back with a snarl.  
  
"Do. Not. Touch. Me." Loki felt himself say. Disgusting humans. Cockroaches, the lot of them. "Do not ever presume to touch me, Harding _dóttir_. I care not what you do with yourself, whether it be in here or elsewhere, but I will not be touched by you or anyone else."  
  
He turned and move towards the bathing room, slamming the door behind him. The fear in the woman's eyes was satisfying. It soothed some part of him, the same way that seeing New York burning had soothed him. It was, he thought, like the fist meal after his lips had been sewn shut all those years ago. Something that tasted good, felt good, and was pleasing to every bit of him.  
  
 _You are sick, God of Chaos. You have a sickness inside of you. The more you hurt others, the more it festers and rots you at the core. You are tainted, Little King. You are diseased._  
  
Loki stared into the water as the tub filled, stripping from the clothing and dropping them carelessly upon the floor. His reflection was distorted by the ripples, but something cruel stared back. He was a beautiful child. A youthful, soft face and startling green eyes. He looked every bit the little boy, but when Loki met those eyes, something ugly lurked inside them.  
  
The innocence of his physical appearance only made the insides seem uglier.

 

* * *

 

 _Falling._  
  
He was falling.  
  
Some described it as weightless. So much force on the body that it was overwhelmed with the sensation and it felt adrift. As if in water. Falling into the sea, into the air, into time and color. He was falling, and drifting, and swirling. Lost in it, soaked and drenched in the weight and weightlessness. So heavy and so light. He wasn't dizzy. He wasn't anything.  
  
He was just… falling.  
  
'Is it madness? Is it?! IS IT?!'  
  
Is it?  
  
Was he mad?  
  
Madness. That was what was swirling around him. Faster and faster and faster and he was screaming from the effort to stave it off. It was too much. A whirlwind of chaos and it was burning him. So much fire and all he felt was cold. There were screams; inside, outside, around. Always surrounding him and never his own. Why couldn't he scream? Why couldn't he let it go with one glorious yell? It was all inside; all his voices and words and thoughts and screams. Couldn't open his mouth- his lips were sewn….  
  
And he was falling still. Further yet, as he descended through space and time and reason. No reason. Beyond reason. He was left without one, without a way back, without a way forwards. Stuck, and yet forever falling. There wasn't a bottom. No ending for him. A God of Lies, a God of Chaos. No low that was too low for him to sick. He'd just keep falling faster and faster, harder and harder, longer and longer. There wasn't going to be a crash, no impact that would ever kill him. Just this and nothing else.  
  
Nothing else…  
  
'Is it madness?'  
  
Posiontongue. Liesmith. Chaos God.  
  
'Is it?!'  
  
Godling. King without a Throne. No Name. Noson.  
  
'IS IT?!'  
  
Falling….  
  
'You will have your war, Asgardian. If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.'  
  
Terror shook him to the very core as something began to rip at him inside. He could feel it, hear it… it was shredding him apart, leaking out of him with a tearing feeling. Was he being broken like water upon stone? Was he being torn like cloth to a blade? Shredded, like skin to claws…  
  
Stop. Make it stop. Stop it!  
  
If he could only grip on tighter to something, find some sort of foundation, structure, support… he could cling to it and stop himself from leaking it out everywhere. What was it? Blood? Was he bleeding? No, no it was something else. Something worse…  
  
Magic.  
  
'There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he cannot find you….'  
  
His lips tore as he opened his mouth and screamed, thrashing and flailing out, limbs striking anything and everything. Voices were screaming around him, in him… and he was hurtling downwards, unable to grasp onto anything. Thoughts, feelings, sensations… they were ripped from him and he felt raw, like an exposed nerve.  
  
Someone stop it. Please… Please make it stop…  
  
Stop it…  
  
He wanted… He wanted Th-…  
  
He….  
  
'You think you know pain? He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.'  
  
Pain….  
  
All at once, Loki awoke, body jerking and shuddering in a seizure so violent that he felt himself bolt upright. His thin, child frame tensed once, shuddered, and then fell back. The dream ended, but unseeing eyes stared up, green eyes vivid and hollow.  
  
There was screaming from the other children as the room began to fill with smoke, fire dripping from small, thin fingers as if it were water. Ice began to creep along the beds, freezing the covers solid and slickening them so that it was difficult to flee the room. They shrieked for help, small feet racing from the room without a glance at the boy left behind. The house was shaking, as if an earthquake had rendered it unstable.  
  
Magic poured out in an uncontrollable wave.  
  
On the outside, Loki was still, silent, unmoving as he lay curled upon the bed.  
  
But inside, he was still falling.

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Icelandic Translation:
> 
> 'Bara heppni mína að ég ætti að enda á stað sem hatar mig'  
> 'Just my luck that I should end in a place that hates me.'
> 
> Translations provided by Google Translate and may contain inaccuracies.


End file.
